In no way were heels designed for real life.
Heels would be just so much more manageable if we each had a cohort of foot soldiers to lift us from home to restaurant table to bar stool to club stool and then back into bed again.
7 Stages of Wearing Heels on a Night Out:
Stage 1: Optimism
Before getting dressed up, putting on our party shoes and heading out for the night, there is always a brief period of unwarranted optimism. Sure, on all the previous 8,796 nights out in our lifetime we lasted no more than two hours in the nude stilettos before taking them off and having to resist the urge to stab ourselves in the face with the heel if only to distract from the INDESCRIBABLE pain we’ve been suffering through. (Yes, I am a stiletto-wimp.) Around half eight slipping on the miraculously leg-elongating shoes that are essential to the outfit, we feel bold, ready for the night ahead. Striding confidently to the Hailo (even though we’re in deep denial about the heels we still know the bus is out of the question).
Stage 2: Niggling Doubt
Sitting at dinner, frequent repositioning of the legs under the table does little to assuage the creeping pinching sensation at the heel or the whiff of a dreaded toe rub situation manifesting. “I have barely even stood up in these yet…” the practical, logical side of your brain asserts, “how am I going to last the night?” “Shut up,” hisses the side of your brain that never fully recovered from that 2004 Sex and The City bender that warped all concept of what is practical footwear for a feisty young urbanite such as yourself. F*ck you, Carrie Bradshaw, f*ck you.
Stage 3: Smiling Through Gritted Teeth
“You’re in deep now, just smile through the pain.” Wonder if a couple of Nurophen might sort you out… Then wonder if self-medicating merely to withstand wearing your shoes is overkill. Then start wondering: “Seriously, How does Victoria Beckham do it? She does airports in heels; she must have really good pain killers.”
Stage 4: Wincing with Every Step
Some assh*le in wedges suggests walking to the next bar. Try to refrain from accidentally on purpose stepping on her foot; no one must know that the courts that you smugly announced earlier as “€12, Pennys.” have turned on you massively.
Stage 5: Drinking Through The Pain
While this is arguably self-medicating of an even more worrying variety, it is helping with numbing the foot area somewhat, though there is definitely an accompanying decline in quality of dancing.
Stage 6: Starting to SERIOUSLY Resent Life
“Why do I even put myself through this? You don’t see men wearing instruments of torture to try to make their legs appear less sausage-like? They don’t give a sh*t about their sausage legs cuz they don’t have to. I hate being a woman. I shouldn’t even be wearing these heels; I’m the worst feminist ever.” The inner monologue is hitting peak mental right about now, even the throbbing pain in the feet can’t drown it out.
Stage 7: Sweet Goddamn Relief
That moment, after we’ve been wearing heels for anywhere from 8 minutes to 8 hours (depending on your tolerance of unnecessary pain), when we step out of the shoes and place our poor abused feet on a flat surface is arguably more delicious than many orgasms. Vow to never again put yourself through such hideous torture… until the next time you find yourself standing in a changing room trying on a dress for some friends and uttering the inevitable words: “I’ll be wearing heels obviously…”
Before getting back in the high heel saddle, this video is perhaps worth a watch…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EFpRLjmAicc
Main image via YouTube
